


Good Night and Good Morning

by ithinkyourewonderful



Category: Perry Mason (TV 2020)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkyourewonderful/pseuds/ithinkyourewonderful
Summary: A good night, and a good morning.
Relationships: Hazel Prystock/Della Street
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Two short drabbles that I've been sitting on for ages.

Perhaps it was the look she gave her when June introduced them that morning, with Della rushing out on her way to work? Or the spark that flew as Della shook the new tenant outstretched gloved hand? There was an amused quirk of the lips that Della would've returned if she had the time, but as it was, she was late and had to leave if she wanted to beat crosstown traffic. 

Maybe it was the way she sat herself across from Della at supper a few nights later, watching her without knowing?

Still…

Adeline Street was raised to let others do the work. Let other chase her, and flatter her - she was a lady, and it would be unladylike to do anything else. But Della Street on the other hand, she was no lady, no, she was a woman who went after whatever she wanted. And tonight, she wanted to know if she was, like she often was, right about the other woman. 

She knocks lightly on the other woman’s door, “Ms. Prystock?” She softly asks, under the guise of being careful not to wake June or the others this late hour. She can hear movement, a pause as the radio is turned down, and then the door opening, a flush cheeked Hazel standing before her, her hands still gloved. “Ms. Street-“  
“Della, please.” She grins. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me?”  
“Certainly, come in.” She steps aside, making just enough room for Della to slide past her. 

Another spark. 

Another smirk.

“The clasp on my dress is caught.” Della explains sheepishly. “Would you be able to help? I can’t quite reach it and I’d hate to tear it.”  
“Is it now?” Hazel asks, eyes aglow and lips a-quirked again. “How dreadful.” 

Neither of them know it yet, but Della Street will come to love that quirk, those lips, that woman before her.

“Turn around.” Hazel orders, a thrill running through the both of them as their eyes connect briefly before Della turns, the air between their bodies suddenly charged with excess energy, electricity. Hazel takes off her gloves, left one first, and then the right, before she wordlessly hands them to Della to hold. She brushes the other woman’s waved hair to the side - it needs a trim, but it suits her, it gives her the air that she’s too busy, too unbothered to worry about it - and then drags a finger down the two or three inches of exposed skin stretched over the spine. From the reflection of the mirror across the room, she sees the other woman’s eyes close briefly, before they re-open, and connect again, this time in the reflection. Hazel will admit, she’s caught off guard by their blue-ness, their openness. She snaps her eyes down at the clasp and quickly undoes it, and a few others beneath it, until she reaches the top of the other woman’s slip. “All set.”  
“My hero.” Della drawls, turning around. “A hand model? That’s what June said.” She asks, holding firmly onto the gloves.  
“There're worse jobs.” Hazel admits.  
“May I?” Della asks, nodding towards the other woman’s ungloved hands. Hazel shrugs and holds out her right hand. She’s surprised when Della takes it in her left, gently twining fingers, her gaze firmly set on Hazel’s brown eyes. 

That spark again - burning steady this time, low and steady, like the hum of dead air over the radio.

And then they kiss, slow and unhurried, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, and for them it is. Their connected hands tighten their grip, their bodies step closer until they’re just skimming each other, breast and bone and hip and nose and knees, their free hand touching everything and everywhere it can. 

And then it’s over. Their foreheads lean against each other as they both smile, suddenly shy. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?”  
“No,” Della answers, stealing a quick kiss before pulling away. “That’s all for tonight.”  
“A shame. Well,” Hazel smiles, taking her gloves back from the other woman, and puts them back on. "I’d be happy to lend a hand any time you need, Ms. Street.”  
“Della, Ms. Prystock."  
“Hazel then.”  
“Has anyone told you you’re cute when you blush like that, Hazel?” Della grins, before she slips out of the other woman’s room and back into her own.


	2. Good Morning

She wakes in the pre-dawn light out of habit. 

It’s her favourite part of the day, it always has been. When she was younger, she used to imagine the blue white light was water, that she was a mermaid, and that his is what the world would look like under the pond in back of their estate. She blinks a few times to clear her eyes - she’s not a child anymore. She gently rolls over onto her side, propping herself up on one arm, careful not to wake the other woman, even though she knows she’ll have to - and soon. Hazel lies on her stomach, her silk pyjamas long since removed, leaving her back bare, skin so soft that Della can’t help but run a finger along her spine. It’s hard not to touch her all the time, constantly, always. It’s hard to not smile too much, or too hard when she sees the other woman, or hears her name. She’s so careful that even now, when they’re alone, she has to assure herself it’s alright, they’re safe…enough. “Hazel,” She whispers, placing a kiss on the curve of her shoulder. “Haze, it’s time.”  
“Mmmm…” Hazel groans, turning over, stretching.  
“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” Della admits, her mouth dry with desire, watching her lover elongate her stretch, arch her back, grins at her with eyes still closed.  
“Ms. Street.” Hazel teases, “I bet you say that to all your women.”  
“I do, but I only mean it with you.” Della responds. She can’t tear her eyes away from Hazel. Maybe it’s just nerves from this case, or her fight with E.B., or maybe it’s Hazel herself, entirely too kind, too lovely to be here with her but right now, it’s all too much. Hazel finally opens her eyes and watches her carefully, like she always does, as if she is the world’s foremost specialist in Della Street. 

Perhaps she is, Della wonders. 

“Dell,” Hazel says, smiling gently. “It’ll be ok.” She doesn’t say anything after that. Just continues to watch the thoughts play out across Della’s face, reflected in her eyes, the tightly wound muscles of her body which spring into action, lowering her head down to her lover’s body, roughly taking a breast into her mouth, moving a hand up and down the other woman’s thigh until she is granted access, Hazel’s body warm and wet and waiting for her. Hazel scrambles to keep from shouting, gasping, a gloved hand stuffed against her own mouth to muffle any sounds, the other grasping at Della’s hair, letting the other woman work out her fear and her frustration, and yes, even her love onto her body, because it is love that exists between them now, though neither of them can say it. It’s so different from anything else they’ve ever had. They can both hear the sounds of the other tenants of the house stirring, so Della curls her fingers just so, before she rises up to cover the other woman’s mouth with her own, eyes blown out with want. Hazel releases her stifled moans into the other woman’s body, her heart rate slowing back down, her body stilling.

“Well good morning to you too, Dell.” She whispers, smiling, trying to catch the other woman’s eye.  
“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t say what for, but the air in the room slowly turns sour.   
“No, Della.” She raises a gloved hand and nudges the other woman’s chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.   
“I just…”  
“I know.” She smiles, choking down what she really wants to say, what she really wants to do. One day they’ll have to talk about this. About them. Not today though. “So, tell me, now that I missed my chance for escape, what do you propose we do now…?”   
“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to stay here…” Della proposes, laying back in bed, wordlessly motioning the other woman to curl up beside her, one ear listening out to the sounds of the others in the house rising and moving about.  
“Well if we must...” Hazel settles herself against Della’s body.  
“I hate to do this,”  
“But you have to get ready?”  
“I’m sorry.” She places a kiss on the woman’s lips before rising from the covers.  
“I’m not, I always get to undress you, but there’s something surprisingly interesting in watching you dress.”  
“There is not.” Della teases, as she slides her slip over her her head.  
“Oh, there most certainly is, Ms. Street.” Hazel responds, watching her dress with wanton desire in her eyes.  
“You’re going to make me late!”   
“How? I’m all the way over here, you’re all the way there.” Her lips quirk and Della forgets her rush.  
“Fasten me up?” Della asks, crossing the room and turning around, offering her back to Hazel.  
“If I must.” She sighs, kneeling on the bed.  
“You must.”  
“There you go.” Hazel finishes. “All set.”  
“How do I look?”  
“Beautiful as always, but fix your hat.”  
“I’ll do it in the car. Thank you darling.” Another peck, and Della’s gone and Hazel remains. Isn’t that always just the way? She sighs and lights a cigarette and watches from the window as Della gets in the car and drives off. 

She still hadn’t fixed her hat.


End file.
